Heartbreak Hill
by carbonhchi
Summary: Based on a poem written by Paul Laurence Dunbar. Sam starts seeing someone else and Danny deals with rejection. Key word: rejection. Don't make any assumptions.
1. Brilliant Heights of Sorrow

"_Heart-break Hill"_

_A Danny Phantom Fanfic by carbonhchi_

Disclaimer: I do not own the poem that this story was based upon; it was written by Paul Laurence Dunbar, and I only used it for this fanfic. Also, I don't own any of the characters in Danny Phantom, nor the show itself, but the original character(s) that appear in this fic are solely mine. One last thing: In the intro, the last line spoken by Danny was _based_ on the line from Spiderman, but if you read carefully, it isn't the exact line. Thankies!

Chapter one: Brilliant Heights of Sorrow

"_There are brilliant heights of sorrow_

_That only the few may know;_

_And the lesser woes of the world, like waves,_

_Break noiselessly, far below."_

The pain I feel…cannot adequately be described merely using words. One must first understand how my agony came about to catch even a glimpse of my despair. You see, my story, just like countless stories before, is all about a girl…

"Danny!" Sam called from downstairs. I was up in my room, getting ready for school.

"Just a minute!" I called, giving myself a once-over in the mirror. "I'm almost ready!" I heard her sigh dramatically. She'd been waiting for five minutes, but she acted as if it'd been five hours. I ran my fingers through my hair one last time, smoothed the wrinkles from my shirt, and bounded down the staircase.

"Ready," I said cheerfully.

"_Finally_," she muttered. She nudged Tucker, who was half asleep on my couch. "Let's go, Tuck, Danny's here."

"About time," he yawned, pulling himself off of the cushion.

"What are you two so anxious about? I mean, it's just _school_." I locked the door behind me and entered the cold outdoors; it was no telling when my rents would be up.

Tucker responded first, telling us about some computer science project. I tuned out, instead focusing my attention on Sam. Her hair was so dark, so richly black; it just sucked in all my interest. But her eyes drew mine away from her beautiful hair, and I was dumbfounded. The graceful specks that danced effortlessly around each pupil stood out against striking purple rings of perfection. I longed—no, I willed them to look into mine; my heart skipped a beat when they did. Instinctively, I looked away, and I felt the blood rush to my cheeks.

"What's the matter, Danny?" she asked with genuine concern.

I risked a glance back up, and saw that her gaze returned my sparkle. "Nothing. I just—" I was interrupted by a fire hydrant, right before my face became suddenly acquainted with the sidewalk. My arms, now sprawled uselessly in front of me, did little to break my fall. My bag, amazingly still somehow on my back, had dumped its contents ahead, the momentum of our walking pace still carrying them.

Sam bent over, took my arm in her hands, and helped me up, while Tucker gathered my stuff. "Are you okay?" she asked, her deep purple eyes searching me for any bodily harm.

_Those eyes were my downfall_, I thought to myself. _Literally._ But aloud I responded, almost mechanically, "Yeah, I'm fine." Tucker handed me my school supplies and I dropped them into my backpack. "So," I said quickly, averting any attention off of myself, "what were you saying, Sam?"

Her eyes suddenly avoided mine, breaking the link. "Well, I… I was just saying… Uh, I was explaining why I wanted to get to school so badly…"

"Oh," I said, grateful for the distraction. "Continue. Please."

Her cheeks flushed a light pink, lighting up her face. "Uh, okay," she said after a pause. "I… I wanted to go to school because I want to talk to Jared." Her right hand gripped her left arm, the nails digging into her flesh. The silence lingered a few agonizing seconds before I realized that I had missed my cue of support. But I couldn't say anything; my heart was frozen, and my tongue tied. So Tucker stepped in for me.

"That new Goth kid?" he asked, his voice masking his apprehension of the tension in the air. We rounded the corner and walked up the steps to Casper High.

"Y-yeah," she stammered. Her eyes, the same eyes that I had held in admiration mere moments before, were focused on me. But I didn't look at her. I couldn't. I concentrated only on the steps my feet were taking – right foot, left foot, right foot. Tucker elbowed me in the ribs and I reluctantly looked up.

"That's…cool…" I croaked, and disappeared into Lancer's classroom. I forgot, however, that they had the same class.

"Danny," she said, pulling me aside. "If there's a problem with…well, with anything, just—"

"No, it's cool." I pulled away from her and slung my bag off my arm. It fell beside my desk. "You talk to Jared, hang out, whatever. I don't care. Why would there be a problem?" I slid into my seat and focused on the chalkboard streaks, my thumbs pressed firmly under my chin. My elbows hurt because I was pushing them into the desk, my head propped up.

"Okay…" she said slowly, and walked away. Probably to go sit by Jared.

Tucker leaned across the aisle to look into my face. "Jealous much?"

"Me? No way! Why would I be jealous of _him_?" I looked at Jared sitting two rows ahead of me. He was talking, his hands in motion. And Sam was laughing.

"Because Sam—"

"No, Tucker, okay? Whatever, it's cool." I tore my eyes away from the couple, instead looking down at my twiddling thumbs. Man, does rejection ever hurt.

Next—Chapter 2: The Great High Place of a Hopeless Grief

If you've read any of my other fics, you'd see that this one's a little different. If you haven't seen that already, read it again. It's very different. As already stated before, this fic is based on a poem written by Paul Laurence Dunbar. The idea came about after reading many of his pieces (I like poetry, okey?), and I think it'll be great! However, since some people probably don't read the beginning and ending author's notes, I guess it doesn't much matter. Only to those who do. But some people don't even care anyway; they just want to read the fic. That's okey too. Read read read! Just remember to review when you're done. I accept anonymous reviews, too.


	2. The Great High Place of a Hopeless Grief

Chapter two: The Great High Place of a Hopeless Grief

"_I hold for my own possessing,_

_A mount that is lone and still—_

_The great high place of a hopeless grief,_

_And I call it my 'Heart-break Hill.'"_

I left early from school that day. Usually we'd hang around the commons, having fun. I assume that Sam was with Jared. Who knows where Tucker was. I walked slowly home, as my attitude was down. I told myself that I didn't know why it was such a big deal to me; Sam just wanted to talk to the guy. But, somewhere inside, I really _did_ know. I had like-liked Sam for weeks now, and I had thought the feeling was mutual.

"I guess _not_," I mumbled to myself, kicking a rock. I gripped the straps of my backpack tighter as I watched it skip along the sidewalk. The temperature was dropping, even though I couldn't feel it. A light dusting of snow was around Amity Park, and now tiny fragments fell slowly down from the clouds. I felt the snow melt on my cheeks, and I pulled out my coat from my bag.

I got to my house ten minutes later, even though it would've only taken half that. But my feet were as down as I was, and couldn't be persuaded to go any faster even if I wanted them to.

I solemnly climbed the stairs, opened the door to my room, and dropped my bag. I collapsed face-down on the bed. It was a good thing my parents didn't pay much attention to me that day, as they were busy with a new invention; I wouldn't know what to say in my defense. "Sorry, Dad, I fell for my best friend and she broke my heart, so I won't be taking out the trash tonight." My luck, they'd think I was possessed by an evil ghost.

I lay there on the bed, my face buried in my pillow, for I don't know how long. I woke up, probably hours later; my pillow had a damp ring around my face, and my eyes felt dry. I'd been crying. I cried? I don't remember crying. I don't even remember the last time I'd cried.

But then again, I'd fallen from pretty high up.

Now my only friend was my pillow. Sure, there was Tucker, but he wouldn't understand. And guys don't cry on other guys' shoulders. Unless a loved one died. Or your team lost. And neither one had happened to me.

My slump was pretty bad. Jazz, being the fink of the family, was the first to be worried about me when I didn't come down for dinner.

"Ghost problems got you down?" She sat on the bed next to me.

I rolled to my side, facing her. I could tell she saw the tear-spots on my pillow, because her expression changed for the worse. "No," I sighed, glad my crying was over. "_Girl_ problems."

Her countenance softened, and she patted my hand. "Ah, still chasing Paulina. How'd she ditch you this time?"

If I had been sitting, I would've shifted uncomfortably. But it just looked like wiggling. "It's not Paulina…" I said, just above a whisper. I let that sink in. "It's Sam."

Once more, her face changed, this time from sisterly understanding to shocked anger. "Did Sam hurt you? You didn't hurt her back, right?" Not quite the reaction I was expecting. Nonetheless, I'd gotten this far. I might as well have continued, right? Wrong.

"No, Jazz, it's…complicated. Just don't worry about it, okay? I'll deal with it."

Next—Chapter 3: Weeping, We Sat Us Down

Yay! People like this story (so far) as much as I like writing it! I, too, enjoy angsty stuff; it's just harder for me to write it. If you wanna find out about what he does, you'll have to wait and read to see what's next! READANDREVIEW!


	3. Weeping, We Sat Us Down

Chapter three: Weeping, We Sat Us Down

"_And once on a winter's midnight_

_I found its highest crown,_

_And there in the gloom, my soul and I,_

_Weeping, we sat us down."_

Nobody came to walk with me to school the next day. That only heightened my loneliness. I walked to school, alone, in foot-deep snow. It had fallen the night before. It was now mid-December, and Christmas lights began to appear on many of the houses. _Our_ house fashioned Fenton-Lights, guaranteed ten years of bright, Christmas spirit or your money back! I didn't have any Christmas spirit. The necklace I had bought for Sam sat in my shirt drawer, alone. Just like me.

But it got worse.

I trudged to Lancer's room, dropped my bag next to my desk, and fell into my chair. I was so tired from the lack of sleep I'd gotten the night before.

"Psst! Danny!" Tucker called from beside me. It was five minutes until class started, our usual chat time.

"Not now, Tucker," I said, my head buried in the heap of my arms on the desk. "I'm too tired."

"But Dan-_ny_! You need to know this before you find out from _her_!"

I slowly raised my head, eyes blinking. "What?"

His response came from his eyes; they pointed forward. My gut twisted and I followed his gaze. Sam and Jared were holding hands.

"What'd they do? Go on a date?" I asked with a snicker.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice dripping with apology.

_Well_, I thought, _I guess I can't think positive thoughts about Sam now._ I scolded myself. _Of course you can!_ I argued. _She's happy, right? Isn't that a good thing?_ But I wasn't. We would _both_ be happy if we were together. But with Jared in the picture that wasn't going to happen.

We had a partner project assigned, and Tucker and I were together. Sam and Jared both chose each other, then had a great laugh. Tuck invited me to stay the night at his house so we could work on our project, something to do with the Amendments. I glumly agreed, and said I'd be there at four. The rest of the day I avoided both Sam and Jared; it was easy seeing as they were together the whole time.

I arrived at 3:58, and we went up to his room. He had to explain the entire assignment to me again; I hadn't been listening.

Dinner was good, but I couldn't focus on any one thing. I'm pretty sure I made conversation with the Foleys, but it's kinda hazey; my thoughts kept wandering to Sam and Jared.

We worked on our Amendment project, and Tucker had to explain the instructions again. He asked if I was okay, and I explained that I was fine, just a little distracted.

"Oh," he sighed. "Sam."

I looked away. "Yeah. How-how is she?"

"She's fine. They're a couple now." He looked into my face, reading my pain. "You okay, man?"

"No." I shoved my fingers into my hair, pulling it away from my face to fend off tears. "No, I'm not." That's when it all came out. I've never seen him sit so quietly; he focused on every word I said, understood the feelings I expressed. When it was all done, and I had pured out my soul, my eyes dry from the tears, he sat, silent. My eyes were closed. I didn't want to look at him.

"Danny," he said after several minutes had passed. "Why didn't you just tell her in the first place?" He was being very careful not to set me off, I knew, but he couldn't help but ask the obvious question.

"Yeah, I know." My voice was broken. "Looking back, I wish I had. But it's too late now. I couldn't possibly tell her."

"Yes you could! It's never too late," he encouraged me. But I didn't listen.

"Tucker, thank you. It's nice to get it all out. But… I dunno, I gotta go. Or something." I got up, all of a sudden confused at the emotions surging through me.

"Listen, Danny, just let her know. Tell her you're happy for her, and you know, whatever, but tell her how you feel. She'll understand. And you won't regret it later."

I left. Tucker didn't fully understand. I already _did_ regret it, and nothing could change it.

Next—Chapter 4: Two Shades of a Thing That Died

This is coming along nicely, eh? Lotsa reviews, too! Thankies guys! (((kisses))) I think I'll be updating about once a week, maybe. Not too sure. It's getting hard to find time to sit and type them up. REVIEW! ;)


	4. Two Shades of A Thing That Died

Hello all :D I found the poem again (misplaced for a few years, I'm so pathetic), and I think I can finish this without the original plot outline, so I'll give it a shot. (How suiting to come back after a break to see that Danny has, as well!)

Chapter four: Two Shades of a Thing That Died

"_But now when I seek that summit,_

_We are two ghosts that go;_

_Only two shades of a thing that died,_

_Once in the long ago."_

I don't know where I've been lately. Completely beside myself, I think, though I don't have anyone here to confirm it. Tucker has all but left me (at my suggestion), instead spending his time supporting Sam and her relationship. Each day I wake up grey; my mind is slow and drags its feet, I have to think about breathing, and my head droops forward, eyes following whatever the ground has to show me that morning.

It's almost Christmas, and that necklace is still aging away in my dresser. Maybe I'll just keep it, to forever remember how stupid I was for ever falling in love. Some turn to physical pain to help them, right? To show themselves they can still feel, or that they're in control, or whatever they decide to keep holding on. But I could never do that. So I think I'll keep cutting my heart, deep down, where nobody's going to find it again. I like emotional pain anyway; it's easier to tolerate, lasts longer, and nobody's the wiser.

What's the point of life anymore? Everyone around me is happy, they're geared up for the holidays, and where will that leave me? Stuck at home pretending to be cheery (or holing myself up in my room) while the rest of the world is full of love and joy. I've lost the one thing that mattered most to me, and I'll never forgive myself.

"Winter Break" comes finally, each day slowly getting more painful than the last. I should get out more. Even the ghosts have noticed; I'm getting sloppy and using the thermos more and more lately, instead of putting my usual gusto into a fistfight. Show up, suck 'em in, and throw 'em out. I'm stuck in a rut, lost in this dismal routine, and I'll never find my way out. Just thinking about it cuts into my chest, the pain settling in for another long ride.

The first day back is chaos. Everyone at school is talking a million miles a minute; shouting, laughing, sharing stories. I keep my eyes to the tiled floor and stay away from crowds, but it's not enough.

"Hey, Danny," a sickeningly familiar voice calls from down the hall. "Where've you been lately?"

I don't dare turn around. Keep walking, pretend you didn't hear, and maybe she'll leave you alone.

"Danny?" She's gotten closer. Shit, I can't take this. Not right now! My hands grip my backpack's straps in a sweaty panic as I let my eyes dart around for a bathroom. Who cares who sees me? Everyone knows I'm a wreck anyway.

Footsteps behind me signal her approach, and I know she's hell-bent on confrontation. At the last second, I dodge to the right and into the first-floor men's bathroom, safe from her too-late concern. _Sam may as well be dead to me now_, I think,_ because there's nothing left of me to care for._ Life as a shell is going great, thanks for asking.

Next—Chapter 5, our finale: "Be Still."

How many of you are left? Who among the first followers will get an email today and actually read this chapter? xD I'm guessing not many. But I feel accomplished, so here you go.


	5. Be Still

Well, here's the last chapter. I'm getting this over with so that I don't lose the idea, so um… Don't blame me if it's short :D (Woah, heads up, language warning. It seems that growing up also expands your vocabulary!)

Chapter five: Be Still

_"So I sit me down in the silence,_

_And say to my soul, 'Be still,'_

_So the world may not know we died that night,_

_From weeping on 'Heart-break Hill.'"_

Here I am again. Night after night, I retreat further into my mind, into my _depression._ Could I go back and reverse it all, would I? I'm addicted. These feelings of loneliness, of loss, and of… torture. Would I take it all back? Sam… She could have been my lover. I could have made her mine, if only I had had the courage to tell her. God, tell her anything! Drop a hint, give her a smile, something! But I guess, if she ever really wanted me to begin with, she would have made a move. Right? Or was she just waiting on me?

Every night, I fucking swear. I tear into myself with grief, depressing myself even further than I thought possible. I see myself getting paler and skinnier, losing interest in everything from ghost hunting to personal hygiene. Sure, I still do them. What kind of a shell would I be if I didn't do things, right? Don't worry, I'm still here. Just barely here, doing the things I once put on high priority. I need something to pull myself up in the morning, to keep myself alive. Right? Or do I find a way to finally end my misery?

Maybe I need drugs. Drugs make everything okay, I've heard. But I've also heard they make everything worse. So maybe not. Alcohol? I've dabbled, I'll admit, but not enough to get away with it here at home. I'd need someone with connections. And I don't now anyone off the top of my head, so I know I'm not going to go in search of someone. What I need… is something accessible.

No. What I need is Sam. I need her more than I've ever needed anything or anyone. And there goes that internal blade again, cutting right into my heart. Tears roll freely down my face and I'm forced to blink them away. Impulse, I guess.

I glance wistfully at the dresser. Her necklace, which I study every night, has been waiting for her since the beginning of school year. And here I sit, moping around at the end of January, _still _lacking the balls to give it to her. It would be a waste of money to keep it. I need to get rid of it, whether I sell it or give it to her or whatever. But I'm feeling a little better now; I have a mission, I have resolve. I have… no idea what I'm going to do.

…

Valentine's Day. It's perfect! Cheesy, but perfect. She'll never have to know it's from me! I'll drop it off at her house, ring the bell, and go intangible. Badabing, right? Maybe I'll even stick around to see her reaction. I need to get some wrapping paper. I need… I need to write her a letter.

I tear into my hair with panic. "Oh God," I croak, realizing that it's been hours, maybe even days, since I've spoken. "She needs to know. I know she does. But she can't know it's from me." Gears are turning in my head, and I'm turning my room upside down for some paper. "Why the _fuck_ can't I ever find what I'm looking for?" I cry in desperation.

I know I have two weeks at least, but I feel a rush flood my body. There's a _need_ there, a need to get down all my feelings on paper. So this is why people write poetry.

Finally finding a stray scrap, I pull out a book and plop myself on the bed.

_Sam_, writes the pen. I study it momentarily, hoping her name will bring the right words to my hand. Pain beats steadily in my chest and I'm crying again. I'm crying? Why do I have to do this every time I think of her?

…

The past two weeks have been tolerable. I haven't wrapped her necklace yet, because I think the only thing keeping me sane anymore is looking at it. It stood out to me above all others that day; made of pewter and hand-decorated with tiny chains, the silver cross holds a black heart in the center. Each tip has small red diamond-shaped jewel embedded in it, and the whole thing put together is perfect for her. It's a medium-sized pendant, and should fit the size of her chest beautifully.

Today is the day, and I kiss the heart softly, whispering a goodbye to the only thing I have left of her. Placing it carefully in the small box, I make sure the chain doesn't knot up, and finish it off with the scrap of paper that bears my soul.

I see Sam in the halls at school; he's with her, holding her hand, talking and laughing with her. Her smile is gorgeous, and her eyes shine when she laughs. _That's the love I would have if I weren't so stupid,_ I can't help but think. Standing in the shadows, I watch them pass and hold my breath, just in case she happens to look my way.

She never does. It's like she's a different person. Or maybe I'm different. I don't know. It's so hard to think lately that I think I might explode!

The bell echoes my way and I drag my feet, shuffling to my next class.

History is almost empty, except for a few early birds and the teacher. Nothing looks wrong here, so I sit in my seat and wait. I have five minutes until the class begins, so I busy myself with the desk in front of me, scratching at it with a dying pen. People who dare to look at me see a forlorn carcass of a boy, struggling to do just about anything with his time. Whispers dance behind me, and I can sense some people a few rows back. My heart thumps in my throat and I know their whispers are about me. But I need all the courage I can get to make it through this day, so I close my eyes and rest my head on the desk.

_Be still,_ I tell my heart, my soul, the thing with which I battle every night. _Soon you will be heard._ Let them talk. They know nothing of true heartache.

…

I follow her home, floating behind her a few yards to make sure she doesn't notice me. She walks alone, arms wrapped around her books, hands clasped at her sides in happiness. It's plastered all over her face. She smiles at the sidewalk, and I ache; it wasn't long ago that she smiled at me. In my hands I hold her gift. Tenderly I grasp it, fingers trembling at the thought of letting it go once and for all.

She turns down her street, mounts her steps, and slips through the doorway. I wait outside, listening to her humming as she makes her way upstairs, dialing her cell phone.

"Jared?" I hear. It's like a stab to the chest. Tears well, and I place the box quietly in front of her door, ring the bell, and retreat to the other side of the street.

With a whoosh, her glassy front door opens and her head pokes out, checking to see if anyone is there. Finding nobody, she goes to close it, but stops. What is this? A package? Her hand is to her ear, and I hear her faintly tell Jared to hold on a moment because someone left her a box.

The phone is put down, the gift is brought up, and the wrapping comes off. Safely behind a tree, I watch with a wrenched and decaying heart as she removes the pendant from its home, letting the paper drop. Her mouth drops open, a small cry of disbelief floats from her lips. I almost yell when I see my note picked up by the wind, but her eyes catch it just before her hands, and when she opens it up, she breaks down.

_Sam,_

_I have taken too long, so with this gesture I withdraw myself from your life. My heart has always been yours, since before even I knew it. But now I am giving you my heart, Sam, and letting you choose what to do with it from here. I love you, and will love you until I die._

Does she know it's from me? I watch, rapt, as her eyes leak tears I wish she wouldn't shed outside. She gathers the remains of my gift, hand over her mouth, and closes the door. What effect have I had on her? Is she disgusted or what? I can't tell! God, I wish I could have just told her! Maybe there would have been a chance for me.

Defeated and fading, I listlessly fly myself home, wishing I could have done more. My words, the words I conjured up just for her, play around in my head, and I'll live with them for the rest of my pathetic life. _Farewell, Sam, _I think, _you were the best thing that ever happened to me._

* * *

Good God, I had no idea where I was going with this D8 I pretty much took my thought and ran with it. But basically, this is it. So um... Yah. :D! I love sad endings.


	6. Author's Note

Here is the poem, complete in its form:

There are brilliant heights of sorrow  
That only the few may know;  
And the lesser woes of the world, like waves,  
Break noiselessly, far below.  
I hold for my own possessing,  
A mount that is lone and still--  
The great high place of a hopeless grief,  
And I call it my "Heart-break Hill."  
And once on a winter's midnight  
I found its highest crown,  
And there in the gloom, my soul and I,  
Weeping, we sat us down.

But now when I seek that summit  
We are two ghosts that go;  
Only two shades of a thing that died,  
Once in the long ago.  
So I sit me down in the silence,  
And say to my soul, "Be still,"  
So the world may not know we died that night,  
From weeping on "Heart-break Hill."

I found out that it's not actually called "Heart-break Hill", but rather "Lyrics of Love and Sorrow V." It's the last poem in a five-poem installment, and I found it online. If anyone wants to read the other works of my possibly favorite poet of all time, search for Paul Laurence Dunbar on a site called infomotions dot com. (Because I don't think it'll let me link sites in the document.)

With that said, thank you for reading, and thanks to any and all who stuck it out the past few years… Sorry it took so long D:


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